


Test Results

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Facials, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Edward shrugs, smiling at him. "Not really. I don't have much of a gag reflex."Well. Oswald finds himself unable to conjure an appropriate response to that.A revelation regarding Edward's anatomy has Oswald feeling distracted.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 18
Kudos: 132





	Test Results

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a friend's conversation with her colleagues about who was gay based on who didn't gag during their test for Covid-19. I don't know how the testing works in the US, so I've been a bit vague and based it on the UK process. Covid is a genuine shitstorm but at least this bit of smut has emerged from it.

Oswald gags as the swab is pushed back into his throat, fighting the instinctual urge to pull his head away. It's temporary, he reminds himself, eyes clenching shut with the discomfort of staying still, keeping his mouth open. Just a few seconds.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

It feels like it will never end. 

Still, it inevitably does, and all of his muscles relax as he's finally released from the sensation of choking. He takes a deep breath of relief. No matter how many times he has these swabs taken, the experience remains dreadfully unpleasant.

He watches as the assistant who administered the test disappears to do whatever they need to do in another room, and turns to look at Edward. 

His best friend is waiting his turn with characteristic patience, hands clasped lightly in his lap and a neutral expression on his face. This is his first time being tested, Oswald knows, and he's sure the man would rather be anywhere else. It can't be helped. The virus is having a devastating effect all over the world, behaving with unpredictable savagery and taking no prisoners. As mayor, Oswald is required to receive regular tests, but Edward has thus far been under no such obligation. It was his misfortune that one of his associates contracted the virus, and now he must also be tested as a precaution. 

It would be preferable if Edward could receive weekly tests alongside Oswald regardless of his contacts, but Edward had demonstrated a stubborn disagreement when it had been raised as a suggestion. Why he is so averse to the idea of frequent tests, Oswald has no idea, but it isn't his place to make a big thing of it. Edward is a grown man, after all, and perfectly capable of making his own decisions. 

This instance, however, is an exception. 

The assistant returns with a fresh testing kit. "Your turn, Mr Nygma. Exactly as you just saw with Mayor Cobblepot; one swab in a nostril, and another at the back of the mouth. It can feel a little uncomfortable, but do your best to keep still, alright?" 

"Yes, of course."

The nasal swab is, as expected, obtained without fanfare. Then, when Edward is instructed to open his mouth for the throat swab, Oswald is surprised to observe that he doesn't react at all. Not a wince, not a cough, not even a furrow of the brows. He simply sits, mouth open and for all the world appearing bored, until the swab is removed and the assistant leaves the room again. 

What a mystery he is. 

"Didn't you find that at all unpleasant?" Oswald asks. 

Edward shrugs, smiling at him. "Not really. I don't have much of a gag reflex."

Well. Oswald finds himself unable to conjure an appropriate response to that. 

He's still struggling for words a few moments later when the assistant returns and dismisses them, informing them that their results will be back within two days and that they should receive them by text. 

Then, in the car, although he manages to keep up a casual and somewhat stilted conversation, a more primal part of his brain remains distractingly preoccupied. 

No gag reflex. No gag reflex. No gag reflex. 

Oswald can't help but imagine the possibilities. It would be a lie to say he's never thought about Edward more intimately than friendship ought to allow. In fact, thoughts of that nature tend to appear more often than he would prefer to admit. 

It's hardly fair. Edward has remained by his side where all others have abandoned or betrayed him. Edward has demonstrated a depth of loyalty he could never have anticipated, and given him hope in some of his darkest moments. His partner in crime, his right hand, his most trusted friend. 

And the better Oswald knows him, the more frequently those less savoury thoughts invade his mind. It's starting to reach the point where it's difficult to focus on anything else when Edward is around. His gaze lingers on Edward's lips when he speaks, and Oswald wonders what it would be like to kiss him. What would he taste like? What would he do with his hands? Oswald wants to feel those long fingers sliding across his scalp and tangling in his hair. He wants Edward's perfect teeth ghosting bites over his skin, wants to swallow Edward's breath away from him. 

Sometimes, he allows his thoughts to go a little further. He imagines Edward's body pressed against his own. He imagines Edward turned on and desperate for him, maybe even begging for anything Oswald is willing to give. 

Of course, Oswald would give him anything he asked for. But those thoughts are very much a guilty pleasure. They make Oswald's cheeks burn from embarrassment and shame, arousing though they are, and he always resolves to control himself better next time. The resolve never lasts. 

Today, Edward's revelation has opened the floodgates, and Oswald can barely keep himself under control. Stupid, oblivious Edward, thinking he can say something like that without any consequences. He's essentially rendered Oswald useless, and it's undeniably frustrating. 

Oswald can tell, as the day progresses, that Edward has noticed how distracted he is. He's been sending him odd looks, and though he hasn't said anything, he's clearly suspicious. All Oswald can do is hope that Edward lets it go sooner or later, because he's not sure how he will wriggle out of humiliating himself if Edward decides to ask him about his peculiar behaviour. 

By the time evening rolls in, Oswald thinks he might have gotten away with it. His hindbrain is still very much focused on the things Edward could do with that beautiful throat, but the day is almost over and he intends to retire to his room as soon as possible without arousing further suspicion. 

Apparently, Edward has other ideas. 

It's a calming relief, sharing a bottle of wine to round off the day, relaxing at opposite ends of the couch in front of the fireplace. They're idly discussing what to do about Barbara, who seems to be sticking her fingers into far too many pies for anyone's comfort, when Edward tips his head back to take a mouthful of wine. 

Oswald's eyes are riveted to the movements of his throat as he swallows. The shadows cast from his tendons are enchanting, and the subtle bob of his Adam's apple under his skin is _doing things_ to Oswald's insides. 

He's barely aware that he's staring, nor that he's trailed off mid-sentence, until Edward clears his throat. Oswald's gaze snaps back up as he fights down a flustered blush. 

"I apologise," he says, shaking his head as if to clear it of inappropriate thoughts. "I… zoned out, for a moment there. What was I saying?" 

Edward carefully sets his glass down on the coffee table. "Is there something bothering you, Oswald? You can talk to me, you know."

"It's nothing," Oswald assures him. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, at any rate."

Edward doesn't answer, but his eyes narrow behind his glasses as he looks Oswald over, trying to see through him, hear what he isn't saying. He's always so curious. Oswald tries not to squirm under the scrutiny, already having to hope that his body language isn't giving him away. 

"You were fine this morning," Edward says, seemingly to himself. "Until we had our tests for the virus. But that shouldn't be it; you've already had several of those tests. Since then, you've been distracted. Staring into space and struggling to hold a conversation. Why? What happened?" 

"Ed, really, there's nothing wrong. I just have a lot on my mind."

Edward is unconvinced. "No, it's more than that. I can tell. Take right now for example. You're deflecting, and you can hardly look at me." His eyes widen. "Is it something I did?" 

"No!" Oswald is quick to respond, but perhaps _too_ quick, and he can't bring himself to meet Edward's gaze. In that moment, he becomes all too aware that he's doomed, and that Edward is about to figure it out. Damn his perception and his cleverness. 

"If I said something to offend you, Oswald, I'm sorry. I hope you know I would never hurt you intentionally. What was it?" 

Oswald's blush is coming back. He ducks his head and prays for Edward to drop the subject. "I would like very much to talk about something else." There's a sharpness to his tone, an attempt at a warning, but Edward barrels right through it. 

"I didn't offend you," he murmurs to himself. "I _embarrassed_ you. How? What did… Oh. _Oh."_

A palpable tension fills the air. Oswald can practically hear Edward slotting the puzzle pieces together in his brain and coming to the inevitable conclusions. He has to force himself to breathe, and he stares resolutely at the glass in his hand, unwilling to face Edward and the awkward horror that is undoubtedly creeping across his expression. 

He can still salvage this. If he retreats now, and Edward doesn't have the opportunity to say anything he won't be able to take back, there's a chance that they can forget this discussion in its entirety and carry on as before. 

So Oswald puts down his glass, and he has every intention of excusing himself for the night, but then Edward shuffles up to his side, taking hold of his wrist to prevent an escape. 

He looks at Edward's face, a silent plea not to hurt him, hating the vulnerability he feels plastered over his features. His emotions are a curse, robbing him of the ability to keep a poker face at crucial moments like this one. Edward is close enough that they're sharing breath, that scrutinising gaze ever present, and then Edward brings his free hand up to cup Oswald's jaw. 

Oswald exhales a shuddering breath. His heart can't take this. 

"I sincerely hope that I haven't misread this," Edward says. He leans forward, closing the distance between them, pressing a light and gentle kiss to Oswald's lips. 

Just for a second, Oswald stops breathing. He's paralysed. This isn't real. There's no way it can be. This sort of thing just doesn't happen in real life, and especially not to people like himself. His soul crumbles at the thought that this is probably a cruel trick, and he sobs.

The sob breaks him out of his stupor, however, and he decides in an instant that even if this isn't real, he's going to take whatever he can get out of it. Edward, beautiful Edward, is kissing him. He allows himself to melt into it, eyes slipping closed as he wraps his arms around Edward's shoulders to bring him closer. He tilts his head for a better angle, deepens the kiss as best he can, sucking Edward's lower lip into his mouth. 

Edward makes a sound that can only be described as a _mewl,_ a sound that goes straight to Oswald's dick, which he can feel is already starting to swell. Then Edward's tongue is tracing his lips and licking into his mouth as his hand secures a firmer grip on Oswald's face, and Oswald can't help but whimper back. It might be a trick or it might be a dream, but just for a moment, it's utter bliss. Everything he's ever wanted, right here in his arms. 

They kiss until their lips are swollen and Oswald is aching unbearably inside his trousers. When they finally break apart, each gasping lungfuls of air, Oswald is in a daze. Edward's hair is a mess, his glasses askew, his pupils dilated and his lips a deep red. A burst of pride fills Oswald at the recognition that _he_ made Edward look like this, and he tries to memorise the image for later when he's alone again. 

"So… I didn't misread the situation?" Edward's voice is a full octave lower than usual. 

Oswald bites his lip, feeling the tingle of Edward still there, and braces himself for rejection. "No, Ed. You didn't. But I understand if this isn't something you want, and you don't have to-" 

"Oswald," Edward cuts him off. "Exactly which part of what just happened gave you the impression that I didn't want this?" 

"Are you denying it?" Oswald retorts, appreciating the safer territory of anger as it starts to bubble inside him. "I know you don't want me. Don't pretend that you do. I may not know what kind of game you're playing here, but I do know that I'm certainly not desirable in any way."

Edward kisses him again immediately, and it's sweet and beautiful and Oswald forgets what he was saying because he has a sudden and overwhelming urge to cry. He kisses back with a desperation he hadn't anticipated, his eyes watering by the time Edward breaks away to speak to him between soft pecks. 

"You're amazing." A kiss to his cheek.

"Stunning." His nose. 

"Vibrant." His forehead. 

"Formidable." His other cheek. 

"Everything I've ever wanted." One eyelid, then the other, before Edward is staring with sincerity into his eyes. "I would hunt and kill anyone who has ever told you that you're anything other than an absolute dream."

God help him, Oswald wants to believe it, but his paranoia and sense of self-preservation won't let him. It's too sudden. Too convenient. Too perfect. He clings to Edward, doesn't want to let go.

"Ed…"

"You don't believe me," Edward says, more an observation than an accusation. Oswald allows his tightening grip to answer for him, and there's a pause. He's so very out of his depth, different emotions at war with each other for the dominant position, hurt battling joy battling desperation battling love. 

Then Edward moves, sliding to the floor and positioning himself between Oswald's knees, one hand on each of his thighs. When Oswald braves a glance, he sees that Edward is confident and sure of himself, a small grin quirking at the corners of his lips. 

"Let me prove it," he purrs, squeezing the handfuls of flesh. "I'm right, aren't I? You've been flustered over me. Because of what I said after the test."

It's as though Oswald's armour is being peeled away to reveal the innards of his soul, and there's nothing he can do about it. He looks away, staying quiet, his cheeks flaming red from the angry embarrassment rearing its ugly head. 

He doesn't need to say anything. Edward knows. 

"You've been thinking about the _implications_ ," Edward continues, his hands creeping higher. "I'm happy to give you a demonstration. In fact, I really _want_ to give you a demonstration."

His fingers skirt the creases of Oswald's hips and tease at the top of his waistband. "With your permission, of course."

Oswald is silent, hyper-aware of Edward's hands on him, trying to analyse every word in his head. His own fists are clenched as he fights the urge to drag Edward into him. He still doesn't trust this to be the real thing. "Why now?" he chokes out. "Why are you doing this?" 

"Look at me, Oswald."

Oswald makes himself look. 

"You've given me so much," Edward says. "I appreciate your friendship more than you could ever know. Nobody likes you more than I do. But I never thought you would want me… physically. The same way I've grown to want you. I wasn't going to tell you, because I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, but now I think this is a good time to let you know that I'm crazy about you. Working on an educated and hopeful guess that you feel similarly about me."

Oswald works his mouth, but it's impossible to speak. It's an information overload, a revelation so unlikely that it's hard to trust his own hearing. For the first time, he sees a touch of uncertainty behind Edward's mask of confidence and, oddly, that's what secures his final decision to take this at face value. 

"Allow me to show you?" Edward asks again, his fingers twitching where they rest against Oswald's belly, and all Oswald can do is nod. 

Edward wastes no time, deft hands working skillfully to get beneath Oswald's layers. When he pulls his cock free, Oswald gasps, a sharp rush of air. Though he stares as Edward's fingers curl around him, he wants to look away, the intensity of it nigh unbearable, his heart ready to pound its way out of his chest. Because Edward is warm, so warm, his grip firm yet experimental, and it's so much more than Oswald ever thought he might experience already. 

Perhaps he died. Perhaps Edward poisoned his wine. 

All of Edward's movements are slow. He peels back Oswald's foreskin, exposing the purple head to the ridge. He uses one hand, then both, to stroke him, establishing an excruciating rhythm. He twists, differs the pressure, toys with him. 

Oswald can't cope. He closes his eyes, already making tiny, aborted thrusts up into Edward's hands. His nails are tearing holes in the couch upholstery. He imagines that he can feel every callous, rough against his skin. 

Then he senses it as Edward leans forward, but the touch of his lips still sends a shock wave through his body. Such gentleness in an act so lewd is almost more than his brain can process. Edward peppers him with intimate kisses along his length, each one sizzling with an undercurrent of lust. It's not enough for any significant stimulation, but Oswald's breathing is laboured regardless. 

The warm, wet inside of Edward's mouth comes without warning, and his back arches in response. 

Edward's hands anchor him at his hips, preventing all but the most miniscule of thrusts, as he goes to work. He takes his time, his attention focused on just the tip for what feels like a blissful eternity. There's a constant suction as he trials techniques with his tongue, swirling and lapping and applying little kitten licks until Oswald is squirming. 

Oswald wants to fists his hands in Edward's hair, but keeps himself as still as possible lest the spell breaks. His grip on the couch is white-knuckled. No one in his life has ever shown him such desire, been so keen to give him pleasure. It's increasingly difficult to remember his reluctance to accept this as reality. He dares to open his eyes, his vision coming into focus just as Edward meets his gaze and slides further down his cock, lips stretched obscenely around his girth. 

He moans, a high and broken sound, and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling instead. It's too erotic, too sensational, to see Edward like that, the want written all over his face. It will take him apart. 

Edward is undeterred; if anything, he redoubles his efforts. He keeps sucking Oswald down, hollowing his cheeks, using every oral tool at his disposal to stimulate him. Oswald cries out at a light scrape of teeth, which makes Edward groan around him, and the vibrations feel so good that Oswald could swear for a second that he goes blind. 

This is it. If he isn't already dead, then this is what will kill him. 

Edward takes him further, further, until his nose is pressed into Oswald's public hair. And he stays there, breathing, enveloping Oswald in glorious heat. Finally, Oswald brings himself to look back down, his breath coming ragged, astounded by the truth behind Edward's offhand comment about his lack of gag reflex. It's the most amazing and overwhelming thing he's ever felt. 

With his mouth and throat still stuffed full of Oswald's cock, Edward winks up at him. 

And Oswald loses it. He gives in to his body's demands and grabs Edward's hair with both hands, pulling it tightly as he growls and holds him in place. Far from complaining, Edward moans loudly, saliva spilling from his mouth. 

Oswald can feel himself bumping against the back of Edward's throat. He wonders whether, from a different angle, he would be able to see the shape of himself under Edward's skin. He swears, a huffed whisper of profanity, as Edward slides up and down as best he can in Oswald's hold. It takes him a moment to come to his senses enough to help, moving Edward on his cock with his hair, slowly at first but soon building to a more frantic pace. 

He fucks Edward's mouth like a man starving for it, slamming himself deep and deeper still, blown away by how easily Edward _takes_ it. In fact, Edward seems to be trying to swallow him whole. His eyes are streaming and his cheeks are red, his lips and chin shiny with spit and he's a delicious mess. 

Oswald is getting close. Common sense breaks through his haze of tension and lust, and he attempts to warn Edward. "Ed, I'm- _oh,_ Ed, I can't, I'm-"

He breaks off, unable to complete his sentence as his climax surges through him. Edward pulls off straight away, but stays close, opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue. Oswald can't look anywhere else, wholly fixated as his come splatters on Edward's face, his glasses, inside his welcoming mouth. Just the sight of it, depraved and filthy, sends a final shudder through his body, even after his cock has finished twitching. 

Reality gradually returns. Oswald slumps, boneless and spent, as Edward uses his pocket square to wipe off his face and glasses, a smirk on his face as he tucks Oswald's sensitive dick back into his trousers. 

"Believe me yet?" 

If Oswald had the energy, he would laugh. "I could take some more convincing."

**Author's Note:**

> I do have two sequels to other fics in progress, and a much longer fic too, but I'm struggling and I need a motivation boost, y'all.


End file.
